


Fealty to the Spider

by DekuPrince



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Gore, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DekuPrince/pseuds/DekuPrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't Kalluto's idea to become a member of the Phantom Troupe. Choices and decisions are made for him, by his family, but to guarantee a spot among the Spiders his loyalties to that family will be tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

While Kalluto isn’t expecting a gentle hand (has never expected a gentle hand) he’s not prepared for the terrifyingly hard blow Feitan lands. His arm surpasses breaking; it splinters. Tiny fragments falling loose amongst flesh and muscle alike so that he gives a short trill of pain before he can steel himself.  
  


Feitan’s umbrella whistles through the air once more and Kalluto has more than enough sense to put everything he has, and more, into dodging this time. Tendons threaten to rupture under the strain, and the sudden jolt has his broken arm twisting in an agonizing way, but the speed in which he moves acts as a deployment for his paper pieces, fan snapping open in his good hand.  
  


A tremendous thrill shoots up his spine as Feitan lunges again, barely within a speed that Kalluto can perceive, and he doesn’t know if it’s from fear or exhilaration.  
  


\---  
  


“Do you think before you do stupid things, or does action without thought come so naturally to you?” Despite how scathing the words sound on their own Machi speaks in a clipped, uninterested tone, none too gentle as she lifts Kalluto’s broken arm to observe the damage. It takes quite a bit to suffer the rough handling in silence but Kalluto, of course, manages.  
  


Kalluto looks nervously to Feitan, wondering if the insult is as light as Machi is making it out to be, but the older man shows no emotion aside from a brittle sigh as he closes his eyes.  
  


“If you weren’t here I would have held back. No breaking.”  
  


“But because I am it means you can try to squander my free time off as a favor.” She drops Kalluto’s wrist so she can cross her arms over her chest, the picture of unamused. When she doesn’t receive an answer she clucks her tongue. “You like breaking things too much for your own good. Come along, little thing, I can have your arm working again by the end of the hour.”  
  


Wordlessly, Kalluto follows. When he had been unfortunate enough to hold conversation with Hisoka, back on Greed Island, Kalluto had been told of Machi's power. There had been a sliver of a barely-there scar circling Hisoka's arms, one that even Kalluto's keen eye would have looked over if Hisoka hadn't traced it with his nail. He had gotten the impression that Hisoka's arm had been completely severed from his body.  
  


Having seen this, he’s not skeptical that she have the power to heal his own arm, but of the time she claims she can do it in. A clean amputation was an easier fix than the mess he was with.  
  


Feitan trails after them into Machi's room, something that almost causes Kalluto to pause. He trusts his safety is secured, as much as one can around people these, but Feitan’s unknown purpose during this healing process puts him ill at ease.  
  


“Put your arm here.” Machi’s personal room is immaculately clean, two large windows throwing in ample light to work under. A single chair, one with straps that remind Kalluto of his torture sessions, is nearest to a singular lamp that gets switched on.  
  


He does as he’s told, climbing up into the chair and gingerly pulling his long sleeve up to his shoulder before putting his injured arm along the wide armrest. Machi is nothing but efficient as she secures belts around his upper arm and wrist, pulling them tight enough Kalluto can already feel the tingling sensation in his fingertips that comes with the loss of circulation.  
  


“Open up his arm so I can get to work. And you owe me one, this _isn’t_ a favor.” Feitan shrugs a shoulder as Kalluto’s eyes track quickly between the two, suddenly overly wary and on high alert, something that only worsens when Feitan shakes his sleeve so a flaying knife falls easily into his palm.  
  


Kalluto remembers Killua telling him what training in pain tolerance would do for him, or, more accurately, what it was about. What should be taken away from it. He said that you can _bear_ the pain, but that doesn’t mean you get used to it, that it isn’t there, hurting you. It’s a tidbit Kalluto has kept near and dear to his heart through his training. It made him feel less worthless and vulnerable every time he had cried out.  
  


In his current company it only helps him feel even more childish in comparison when he gasps sharply as Feitan lays his inner arm open all the way to it's decimated bone.  
  


Kalluto hasn’t managed to draw in another breath by the time Feitan makes small, but deep, incisions to either end of the initial stroke. Like this Machi has an easier time pulling his skin back to see the bone in its entirety. Kalluto is still having trouble drawing in a breath when he realizes Feitan is watching him with an unreadable, but disturbing, expression.  
  


“You don’t want to miss this.” Feitan nods to Kalluto’s arm, as if he could ignore it with the bright, searing pain it's in.  
  


Kalluto finally manages a shuddering breath just as Machi’s pupils contract and grow brighter with a flood of aura. She stares, for several moments at the wound, blinking slowly, before she takes a deep breath of her own. On her exhale her hands are moving with a speed that makes her arms appear to multiple, a dozen hands handling threads so numerous that air is thick and glowing with them.  
  


Small, delayed pricks of her needle reach Kalluto. They're far too numerous to feel individually and eventually bleed into the background. It's an awe inspiring experience. In his current state of mind, frayed by pain, Kalluto finds himself thinking of this many-armed Machi a literal spider, cold and more capable of spinning a deadly web around him than healing. The bizarre thought is interrupted as Machi suddenly has but two hands again, dragging the one with the needle in it up as high as she can reach.  
  


In that one movement all the threads are neatly pulled taunt at once. Reconstructing his bone, realigning his gashed veins and arteries, and sealing the wound in such a way it looks as if there never was one.  
  


“Move your fingers,” she snips. Kalluto does as he’s told, twitching his pointer finger cautiously before making a fist. The pain subsided so suddenly he feels a little dazed, flexing his hand open and closed. It takes raising his other hand and touching where he had just been laid open, pink and bloodied, to fully digest that it is indeed whole again.  
  


No imperfections could be sensed with touch, though the shine of the Nen thread could be seen just beneath the skin if Kalluto squinted hard enough with Gyo. Kalluto's mouth falls open in silent awe. He's never seen Nen used as a tool for healing before, and he's unsure if or when he does in the future the process will be half as impressive.  
  


“Why ask him to test it out, we both know when you’re done it’s _fixed_.” A cheeriness has crept into Feitan’s voice, knife slashing through the air to belatedly dispel Kalluto’s blood onto the floor and off it’s blade.  
  


Machi’s face sours at that, but turns away to undo Kalluto’s bonds silently.  
  


“Remember, you owe me one now. And next time you need to debauch something with the idea of me fixing it; don’t.” Her dismissal is clear, but leaves Kalluto at having just been referred to as an ‘it’. He slides out of the chair, thanks caught in his throat as Machi turns on heel and exits the room with an air of impenetrable coldness. Kalluto leaves the room more slowly, rubbing his arm absently as he makes sure to go in the opposite directions as Machi.  
  


Feitan follows, keeping by his side, strides matched in the ghostly quiet. Out of all the Phantom Troupe something about Machi had always seemed to make her the most deeply devoted member, idolizing both what the group stood for as well as Chrollo himself. Since Kalluto's appearance she's remained aloof towards him, bordering on unkind.  
  


Kalluto, however, remains unperturbed. Were someone to suddenly enter the Zoldyck household, aiming for a place among them, he feels his reaction to them would be the same until they had proven themselves. The idea has him thinking abstractly about who could possibly be brought into the family through marriage, her purpose lying solidly in furthering the Zoldyck bloodline.  
  


“She didn’t tell me when I could use it again.” Kalluto glances at Feitan, suddenly worried about the closed wound bursting open at it's seams.  
  


“I would guess a week. From personal experience, would have to exert yourself, very strongly, to break her stitches.”  
  


“Like what?”  
  


“Sparring against me again, maybe.” Feitan's eyes are barely visible over the collar of his coat, but the way they taper at the ends lets Kalluto know he’s grinning, enjoying the thought.  
  


“I won’t be doing that.” Kalluto’s nose lifts minutely into the air, turning to look straight ahead with a bored expression. “My curiosity has already been sated in the matter. I’m no masochist; I prefer being the one to do the breaking.” Not to mention the lingering frustration that Kalluto is still so far away from the rest in terms of ability. It may have only been a few short months since his trip to Meteor City to confront the Chimera Ant, Zazan, but Kalluto felt his progress in becoming stronger was slow.  
  


“You do have that look.” Perhaps for Kalluto’s benefit Feitan puts the small grin into his voice this time. Questions niggle at the back of Kalluto’s throat, hands disappearing into his wide sleeves to prevent fidgeting. He’s heard hints from the other group members about what Feitan not only does to interrogate, but what he _enjoys_.  
  


Kalluto wants to be told about it in greater detail. From Feitan, if he had a choice in the matter, but until he has the Spider branded onto his body Kalluto has kept persistently tight-lipped about any questions directed his way. Whether those be about his powers, or his ambitions and training. Because of this it’d be undignified to act on his curiosity towards the others while denying them at the same time. Hypocrisy isn't something Kalluto enjoys.  
  


Even so, a shiver passes down his spine picturing the two of them talking at length over the thrills and satisfaction at hearing the groveling and pleading of victims, overlaid by the wet sound of blood slapping on the floor, or filling the victims' throat to cut off more desperate pleas into undecipherable gurgling, or --  
  


Feitan turns off suddenly from the main hall, making a shooing motion when Kalluto turns as if to follow him.  
  


“The Boss asked to see you earlier. I might have. . .delayed you with fight.” Feitan looks to be smiling again, leaving Kalluto no choice but to scowl openly for how unapologetic he is regarding his obvious selfishness. Kalluto grabs a fistful of the front of his kimono so he can move as fast as he can towards the center of the aging building.  
  


If it’s one thing he knew applied to every group situation, it was the one in charge doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and that there are no excuses accepted for tardiness.


	2. Chapter 2

Thankfully, Chrollo is cradling a book to his chest when Kalluto reaches him, appearing calm and uninterested that Kalluto has taken so long to reach him. Kalluto is quietly instructed to have a seat, presumably while Chrollo finds a good place in his book to pause. Not told where, exactly, to wait, Kalluto is faced with the dilemma of choosing to sit as far away from Chrollo as possible, where he’d then be instructed further when it’d be respectable to approach, or to take initiative and sit somewhere close now.  
  


His Mother’s voice doesn’t have the chance to fully pipe up before Kalluto slowly makes his way closer to Chrollo, eyes on the ground as he boldly takes a seat scant feet from where Chrollo sits atop the short staircase that leads to a small, raised study within the empty library. Their hideout at the time was a mansion oddly out of repair, a place that spooked the locals in such a way that, once abandoned, the place was left alone. Once seated Kalluto smooths out the front of his kimono, waiting for any indication that what he's done isn't appreciated.  
  


When no admonishment comes Kalluto folds his hand in his lap and waits, relaxed and composed.  
  


The silence is broken soon after without Chrollo ever looking up from his book, starting with the fresh turn of a page.  
  


“I felt that Feitan was the first to approach you for a spar.” It's somewhat startling that Chrollo was sensitive enough to recognize their individually released Hatsu when they fought from his spot here in the library. Amazement graces Kalluto's face before he can hastily hide it, grateful that Chrollo's attention is still on his book for the time being. Now, Kalluto understands words that are carefully picked out when he hears them. Chrollo had chosen to speak in a statement rather than a question for a reason, seemingly curious to see how Kalluto will act. 

He can choose not to reply, a foolish choice, but nonetheless available, or he can politely acknowledge whatever he likes about the spar. A chance to sate some curiosities for the Troupe, not common sense to avoid rudeness, is what causes Kalluto to respond as he does.  
  


“He’s very strong.” Kalluto says. He frowns down at his hands as he remembers how he’d been deprived of seeing the activation of Feitan’s power back in Meteor City, too weak even to observe.  
  


“You accepted his offer with a goal in mind.” This time there’s a lilt, a hint, of a question in what Chrollo says.  
  


“A goal that has been met, yes,” Kalluto hedges, unsure if he’d be reprimanded for perceived infighting. The Troupe has since splintered after confirming with their own eyes that Chrollo had regained his abilities, the coming and goings of various members had allowed Kalluto to be privy to plenty of spars in varying degrees of seriousness. Or, playfulness, as it mostly was. It had also allowed him to meet, or at least see, all Troupe members, something he had dutifully reported to his family about.  
  


His fight against Feitan pushed the upper limits of those skirmishes, if only because Kalluto was so much weaker he had sustained damage far worse than anyone else had.  
  


“Would you like to fight me?” Kalluto’s blood runs cold at the direct question, feeling a pressure not unlike what would accompany the release of one's aura. He knows it’s entirely because Chrollo has finally lifted his gaze away from his book to look at him. The feeling of calm intent is stemming entirely from the weight of his gaze and the expectations behind it.  
  


“No,” Kalluto answers honestly. He’s not afraid of the proposition, necessarily, but. Chrollo is the Spider’s Head. He didn’t fraternize with the limbs in such casual ways as to spar with them, not that Kalluto has seen, or even heard of. Hisoka had pursued the idea tirelessly, and was seen as a loathsome creature to the rest of the group.  
  


“You’re so young, Kikyo couldn’t have finished your Nen training in the time she had you.” A weighted, dry snap sounds as Chrollo closes his book. Kalluto says nothing, and Chrollo continues without pause, as if anticipating the silence. “You’ll have to fight me for your membership, so I can judge myself if the room you have left to grow will benefit the whole.” Kalluto expects a wave of dread, fully prepared to subdue it, but finds only calm logic.  
  


“Of course,” Kalluto answers easily. He more directly return Chrollo’s gaze, wondering why his blank expression of acceptance is met with a gentle smile that softens Chrollo’s eyes in a way that shouldn’t be allowed.  
  


“Intent and desire changes, just that fast. Just like that.” Chrollo’s trench coat falls heavily around him when he stands, book disappearing from his hand so that Kalluto understands it had been his book of stolen Nen, the one Kalluto had only heard about from Grandfather and Silva speak of in vague terms up until now.  
  


That same heaviness comes back into the air between them, but this time it's not do benign. Chrollo's aura makes the weight that much worse, and though Kalluto understands it to only be a fraction of what he's capable of he struggles not to bow his head under it's weight, refusing to protect himself with Ten.  
  


“Your desires and intents must extend from me, and me alone.” Fear blows Kalluto’s pupils wide, an unconscious reaction to the sudden fight or flight stimuli that hes no control over. He knows Chrollo sees it. Chrollo seems to see and understand far more than Kalluto could have dreaded to make such a bold and specific claim.  
  


Kalluto can’t agree to this.  
  


His _family_ is where he’s lead from. The Zoldycks. His _Mother_. He’s here only to help bring Killua home, the prodigal son, the puppet that would sit on a throne as the Zoldyck's heir and leader. A leader to be controlled minutely and discreetly from the shadows but Father and Illumi until their dying days, but the head of the family nonetheless.  
  


It’s not. . .an _ideal_ life, but Killua has to be the one to do it, and if it’s his duty to be that person, so be it, Kalluto would see that the family was looked after, and he would help to make it a reality.  
  


Petty, thinking of Killua as a puppet with such sneering undertones when Kalluto himself is aware of the strings being pulled on himself as well. At least he knew where his strings were. He knows one of Illumi's needles has been implanted in his head, introduced sometime after Mother brought up her plan to have Kalluto infiltrate the Troupe. He’d felt the minute changes in his personality and decision making since leaving home. He knows that's where it's coming from.  
  


Maybe it’s the needle that has Kalluto rising to his feet so he’s no longer the only one sitting. Influences his calm exterior as he riots on the inside at the idea of honestly giving himself to Chrollo and the Troupe, stripped of his title and place on Kukuroo Mountain. He’s too sure that when his mouth opens it’s the needle, it has to be, because his mind is in turmoil at the mere thought of embracing Chrollo as his new marionette holder that he couldn’t be forming the words in his own right if he tried.  
  


Refusal means imminent demise at Chrollo‘s hand, no doubt, and Kalluto braces to put up whatever fight he can muster in face of it.  
  


“I. . .want that.” Emotions too minute to discern ripple across Chrollo’s face at Kalluto’s thin tone. Embarrassed, Kalluto clamps a hand over his mouth, wishing his sleeve could hide the sudden burning in his cheeks. He most certainly did _not_ want that! Kalluto had thought the needle an extra precaution to keep Kalluto's loyalties true; now it seemed apparent that it's mission was to see Kalluto a member of the Troupe over anything else. If that were the case such a flimsy lie certainly wasn’t going to do it!  
  


Sure, there was a sense of. . .comradery to individuals within the Troupe, all worthy of respect or admiration in one way or another based on ability alone. But all that paled in comparison to how Kalluto felt for his family. Those genuine emotions weren't enough to fuel a lie like this and have Chrollo fall for it. There was no escaping his family, no deserting them. They were going to make him powerful, worthwhile, _great_ \--  
  


Glaring at Chrollo clearly isn’t going to help the situation, but if he’s going to be killed over a lie that blatantly says his fealty will never lie again with his family best to have it over quickly, in Kalluto’s opinion. Chrollo steps closer and Kalluto doesn’t drop the hand over his mouth, but readies his fan in his other hand discreetly beneath his kimono's sleeve.  
  


Chrollo seems to make no attempt to summon his book, though, his aura settling into a state of Zetsu as he reaches out to pull Kalluto’s hand from his mouth. This only results in more glaring and the dissipating redness to scorch back to life along with Kalluto's own trembling Ten at the physical contact.  
  


“Your secret is safe with me.” Falling back and away, Chrollo’s smile wanes the second it appears until it’s gone. “Though -- it’s not much of a secret to anyone at all if you’re serious about becoming one of us.” Kalluto watches Chrollo descend the stairs, feet stuck to the floor and hands balled into fists at his sides. He's reacting too strongly to this, it was completely foreseeable that Chrollo would call for his loyalty, who wouldn't in his position? And his lie had been bought, though it does nothing to calm the sudden vertigo that's coming over him.  
  


“We're moving bases again soon, but after that I intend to move out on my own at the turn of the season. You have until then to choose when our fight will be.” Parting words before the shade and shadows of the hallway swallow Chrollo from view, leaving Kalluto in an unobserved position to allow himself to sink back to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Manipulation is both more difficult, and easier, than other Nen users would expect. Mastering the pulling of strings behind a soulless thing, inanimate like paper, isn’t so easily comparable to actual beings and creatures. You’re manipulating its movement, not its motives, so it’s more difficult to start out with inanimate over animate.  
  


Once you master the manipulation of the inanimate objects it just makes controlling people or animals. . .odd, but not so much difficult. Having to overcome a being's will is a different kind of struggle when compared to making swords fly or ropes snake through the air, but once that will is crushed it's all so _easy_. Trouble manipulating living creatures only happens to those with weak wills of their own.

  
Kalluto’s fingers twitch where they hover over a praying mantis, thumb pinching towards his forefinger as he resolutely deadens the things minute, but reflexive, resistance to his control.  
  


Sitting up on his knees a little taller he marches the creature obediently into the spider web that stretches across the corner of the windowsill in his room, releasing his control only after it's secured in the sticky silk so he can watch the confused thrashing that comes with suddenly waking up in a place it knows it will die.  
  


Kalluto almost thinks he can sympathize with that. No matter where he awakens it’s a fight for survival until he gets to sleep once more, a battle that can only be won if he continues to be competent and useful. Poisons to endure that could wrack the body into dehydration. Electricity that could permanently damage the nerves, could stop his heart. Slow, but numerous, bleeding lacerations that could rob him of enough blood his heart will give out, not having enough to work with.  
  


He’s not surprised when the praying mantis can’t break free, for all its strength, and succumbs quickly to the spider who skitters to the middle of her web to subdue her prey.  
  


The Zoldyck family is ripe with Manipulators, footsteps for Kalluto to tread in and fill. Some fully embraced their heritage, like Mother, extending her powers much further than her Nen alone. She could weave her way into a person’s psyche to wreck havoc given enough time, never having to lift a finger or her fan to cause a person to crumble. A flawless and Nenless manipulation.  
  


Kalluto's talent in this area is somewhat similar to Milluki's. Where his older brother profiles people with his vast intelligence, Kalluto has learned how to become something of a wall flower. His Zetsu has been mastered and the source of much praise from Silva, making Kalluto easily overlooked and giving him ample room to watch and learn.

  
Pulling on his kimono and deftly doing it up Kalluto mourns Illumi’s inability to be aligned with his own abilities. Kalluto has never asked, but combined with Illumi’s daftness when it comes to understanding people, and a very clear memory of Mother making a disparaging comment about his needles, Kalluto is almost positive Illumi is not a born Manipulator like they are. Rather, he  _chose_ it over his true alignment.

Why you’d choose to be second best at something Kalluto doesn’t know, but then again, maybe it wasn’t really Illumi’s choice at all.  
  


Which brings Kalluto back to the current wall that needs to be conquered. The handholds of which require endless and tireless training to create before he can further advance.  
  


Drive and discipline, theoretically, are all someone needs to better themselves, by themselves, and a strong foundation to build on is always the place to start. The problem is Chrollo had been right when he said Kalluto’s training had been underway but not completed before he’d come here. There was a lot left to learn -- and many training exercises Kalluto is unaware of, ones that could be more beneficial than holding a steady Ren aura for several hours a day.  
  


This hideout is mostly deserted. Before Chrollo and himself had left the mansion in favor of this hide Machi had already gone without so much as a goodbye, and Feitan had likewise stopped appearing in the halls -- and what little he had in the ways of belongings were cleared from his room. Other than Chrollo there may not _be_ anyone else here that had been waiting for them for Kalluto to ask help of. Were he able to swallow his pride to do so.  
  


His short trip to the courtyard is uneventful, sandals clunking mutedly over the stepping stones until Kalluto makes it to the middle of the small clearing to sit down a meditate. The sunlight strengthens the further it climbs into the sky. As it soaks into the blackness of his hair it almost starts to become uncomfortably warm, but he uses that growing discomfort as another layer of vigilance for his training.  
  


“You’re finally here, huh?” Kalluto opens one eye partway, aura remaining steady and unfaltering to confirm it was Nobunaga that had spoken. The man’s Zetsu wasn‘t nearly as exceptional as his En, but as he‘d been skulking in the hall rather than entering the courtyard he had nonetheless gone undetected.  
  


“Where else would I be?”  
  


“You haven’t been told to prove yourself through a mission, you could have paid your Mom a visit. Chrollo didn't say you had to follow him here.” Nobunaga scratches at his chin. The Troupe never mentions the rest of Kalluto’s family, seeming to find a singular interest in his Mother. He wonder if it's through insult that Silva and Grandfather had targeted Chrollo all those months ago, or if it was a bitter pride against losing on of their own in the past to the assassin's hands.  
  


Questions press at the back of his teeth about it, but with a huff he closes his eye again and turns to face forward.  
  


“It would be a waste of my time, as well as their‘s.” Kalluto doesn’t say that if his family needs something, _they’d_ come to _him_. Or that his Mother would surely have some nasty reprimand for his coming home empty handed, mission yet incomplete.  
  


After several moments of silence, Nobunaga asks, “How long have you been like that?” Nabunaga’s sandals scuff audibly over the stone of the hallway before it becomes muffled by the grass and earth, intent on making some kind of conversation.  
  


“About an hour,” Kalluto supplies, uninterested in humoring him.  
  


“And you’re not sweating?” He sounds disappointed and judgmental, making Kalluto’s eyes snap open and his aura spike momentarily. Before he can open his mouth for a haughty retort Nobunaga lifts a hand to silence him. “You’re wasting time is all I’m getting at. Up what you’re doing a few notches.” Nobunaga’s fingers come together and twist like he’s adjusting a dial.  
  


Having just mourned the idea of lowering himself into asking for help Kalluto is ungracious as he takes it when offered. Aura gushes out in unsteady streams by small increments until Nobunaga nods his satisfaction.  
  


“How’s that feel?” Kalluto closes his eyes to answer the question as accurately as possible, trying to gauge how long his endurance can last like this.  
  


“Like a better use of my time.” There’s a tautness to his voice now that he can’t help due to his new-found exertion, eyes opening irritably when Nobunaga sits lazily in front of him.  
  


“If you learn to hold something like this for an hour without strain you can start employing En in short bursts about a foot away from your body.”  
  


“What use is that?”  
  


“Plenty, if you have fast reflexes.” Kalluto takes the advice without further comment, and is blessed with ten minutes of silence, in which his breathing deepens noticeably as he tries to keep his cool under the new tedium of his training.  
  


“So, how long are you gonna do this?” Nobunaga flicks his fingers at Kalluto in a vague gesture.  
  


“Until I need a break.” Kalluto hopes, not so privately, that will be the end of their encounter. That the man will get the hint and be on his way after departing his small piece of knowledge.  
  


“Not what I meant, I was referring to your Ice Princess routine.” His expression falters, falling into realization. “I mean Ice Prince. I can’t believe you let us call you a girl for _weeks_ before Chrollo corrected us, god knows how he figured it out.”  
  


“It makes no difference to me how I‘m referred to as long as you get my name right.” The only part about being assumed a girl Kalluto hadn’t liked was that it acted as a small, consistent reminder of Alluka.  
  


“You’re deflecting and proving my point.” A quiet grumble before Kalluto is finally, blessedly left in peace. Left to struggle through the next half an hour before a small gasp signs the sputtering of aura until it stops entirely, leaving him to pant and start his recovery. All his attention had eventually been diverted into keeping his aura smooth and consistent, leaving him to miss Nobunaga’s departure.  
  


Putting a little more attention into his surroundings Kalluto only has to turn his head minutely to see that Nobunaga has only taken himself to the extreme edge of the courtyard, not gone at all, and a small flash of Gyo showed that he was just within Nobunaga’s field of En, being used for the man’s own training, it seems.  
  


Kalluto considers the entire Troupe in a higher tier than he himself has managed to reach, all of them cozying up to the place of high esteem Kalluto reserves for his parents, grandparents, and Illumi -- skill wise, that is. Even so, he prefers, and thinks more highly, of some members than of others. He may not know who has what number at this point, but even in knowing his opinions would be unlikely to change.  
  


Nobunaga was not quite within Kalluto’s favor. He seemed too familiar and laid back to be taken professionally (even though Shalnark is by far the most casual in the group). Kalluto also considers Nobunaga’s work from Meteor City against the Ants to be a forgettable blip of usefulness.  
  


All that on top of learning that, while Killua had been in the Troupe’s grasp, Nobunaga had been the one acting as his prison keeper. As Killua had obviously escaped Nobunaga’s competence was in question, and Kalluto has since learned, for the first time, what it’s like to hold a grudge against someone.  
  


So, being reminded that, despite all this, Nobunaga is more powerful to employ such a large field of En, only serves to irritate him.  
  


“I know you won’t ask me to teach you, because of whatever pride has you constipated won’t let you, so let's try it this way; I’ll be in this courtyard while I’m in town every morning from six o’clock until six fifteen. If you don’t show up you’ll have barely wasted any of my time.”  
  


Kalluto wipes sweat off his brow with his sleeve, openly mistrustful. Would the training mean he’d end up owing Nobunaga something? Did he have another ulterior motive to offering? How long was he going to be in town, anyways?  
  


That last question has Kalluto sighing briefly through his nose, obviously having already made up his mind.  
  


“I won’t forget.” Kalluto stands so he can move out of Nobunaga’s En field, mildly disgusted by its barely palpable touch. Once outside the field Kalluto enters a state of Zetsu, intent on finding somewhere more private to finish the rest of today’s training. He still had his daily poisons to ingest and inject, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Mother is a fighter. There is no room for doubt about that. One on one she’s a force to be reckoned with. Kalluto had seen her assess what butlers were due to graduate into higher rankings by fighting them first hand, and that had clearly been a restrained show of her strength.  
  


Even so, there was a distinct difference between Mother and Silva. His teachings revolved around the ‘one shot, one kill’ mantra. His preference bears little weight in the face of his proficiency with more traditional and drawn out battles, something he must defer to for all higher classed targets. Kalluto has never seen his Father fight, as Silva has never taken a direct interest, or hand in, Kalluto’s training in any way, but he’s heard talk of it. He’s seen and been around Silva enough first-hand to believe and expect deadly things of him, and has had him demonstrate Nen abilities to him once.  
  


Because he's meant to be an assassin Kalluto’s training thus far has revolved almost entirely around perfecting a single, deadly strike from the shadows. Strength training has never been put to any real test, not outside of making sure that he never becomes an embarrassment who can't let himself into his own estate through the heavy doors in front.   
  


Besides, Kalluto’s missions have always been somewhat monitored, on top of specifically chosen so that the likelihood for retaliation in force from his target was practically zero.  
  


When it had been decided for him that he’d try to infiltrate the Spiders he'd had barely a month to prepare himself to be surrounded by experienced and powerful Nen users. Zeno had taken it upon himself to teach his grandchild the finer aspects of how brutal one on one combat can be, but there had only been so much time, and Kalluto is  _not_ Killua when it comes to fast advancements.  
  


All of their oversights to put such training off has left Kalluto in an absolutely _embarrassing_ situation.  
  


“Huh? Are you even trying?”  
  


“Shut _up_ ,” he snarls under his breath. Nobunaga allows the outburst, something that only adds to Kalluto’s rising temper. He only allows it because he’s interested, most probably in Kalluto’s overt show of emotions. It's something that Kalluto loathes him for.  
  


Kalluto uses that aggravation as fuel towards the goal he’s being asked to meet. His feet skid further apart, elbows bending as he brings his arms back before shoving his hands forward, fingers hooked instead of splayed this time.  
  


All he had to do was move his paper like he always did. Just with the subtracted crux that isn't allowed to use his fan to help him. Kalluto had been pensive when Nobunaga had originally assigned the task to him, barely bothering to explain that he had a Contract in place that his confetti paper can only be manipulated by paper itself.  
  


With a carefree shrug from the older man Kalluto had been instructed to find a way around having to use his fan, and that had been the entirety of their first training lesson. No actual training done, just a demand for brainstorming.  
  


Careful thinking had lead Kalluto to an answer quickly enough. When he had been younger he’d admired Killua’s ability to smoothly alter the features of his hands into weapons. He himself had found the process difficult, put off that Killua had learned it so young and so quickly while he had struggled with it almost endlessly. In a silly attempt to appease Kalluto Killua had made crude origami claws. A set for both Alluka and Kalluto so they could then be ‘just like him’.  
  


Laughable. _Childish_ , even. What use was something like that if it didn’t actually help Kalluto in his training, and that the silly white triangles could no more kill a person than a napkin? Kalluto had, of course, been jubilant over the gift anyways, not even jealous that Alluka had been brought into their circle of fun.  
  


Now, though, the origami that covers his fingers in a crude talon-like resemblance could kill.  
  


Paper pieces follow the momentum of his moments. The problem was they movements were normally fueled by gusts of air, where now Kalluto had to fill that gap with copious amounts of Nen. The end goal, no matter how unlikely, is to see if Kalluto can execute Meandering Dance without the use of his fan. Not so privately Kalluto is finding this marionette style of manipulation taxing on top of painful to endure, confidence dwindling by the minute that this is an achievement he will obtain.  
  


Nobunaga swats the paper away that Kalluto flung at him with the hilt of his sword, movements practically lethargically. His other arm still tucked into his robe, above his sash, and his sword remains resolutely within it’s sheath all adds insult to injury. He's not even pretending to try because he doesn't _have_ to against what Kalluto is throwing at him. A sharp _tsk_ sounds his disappointment.  
  


Fed up trying to impress a man he neither likes nor respects Kalluto acts out by adding more Shu into his paper in an attempt to cut the handle off Nobunaga’s sword all together.   
  


The look Nobunaga gives Kalluto is one of warning when the paper is thwarted again, but not without leaving scratches behind, and the returning look Kalluto gives him is dark and predatory. Kalluto wants to show Nobunaga up, he wants to kill him, take his Spider number in this moment so that he doesn’t have to fight Chrollo at all. Kalluto’s pupils contract, irises swallowing the blackness as his world and concentration narrows down to flecks of his target; killing points.  
  


Tendons pull and muscles flex until Kalluto’s fingers are cracking under the pressure of it, nails sliding sharp and modified though the tips of the flimsy origami covering his fingertips.  
  


“That’s a dangerous look.” Nobunaga’s shift into a more serious stance is a subtle one, and he repositions his hand from his sword‘s sheath to it's hilt, ready to draw it at a moments notice. Being seen as a true opponent, capable and deadly, is all Kalluto needs to see before he falls lax and his bloodlust fades.  
  


The coy smile that twists his mouth isn’t anything like the scowl he wants to give himself. Reacting so childishly just for being outclassed and outmatched, and not really wanting to admit it. Illumi's advice about choosing opponents is quiet and ominous in the back of his head, reminding him that if this had been a real fight, fan or not, he would not have survived.  
  


“It's a family trait.” Kalluto says primly. He practically preens over the twitch in Nobunaga’s brow before a blast of En slaps him in the face, the wash of aura making him feel cold. “You started this! Why don’t I just create an additional Contract that I can only use my technique with a specific fan rather than wasting time on this training?”  
  


“If you can’t pick this up you’re wasting _my_ time, not the other way around. A broken fan would be all your opponent needed to end the battle.” Kalluto looks away angrily, condescended to but having no rebuttal to the offer. “Especially against someone like Chrollo.”  
  


Kalluto's eyes narrow and his teeth clench at the knowing words, any arguments that he could learn to conjure a fan forgotten. “Who says I’ll be fighting him?”  
  


“Chrollo did. He wouldn’t bother recruiting a new member without input from the rest of us. If you don’t kill to get in it can be a vaguely democratic process.”  
  


“That explains Hisoka,” Kalluto mutters.  
  


“That explains Hisoka.” Nobunaga repeats, spitting the name out like an ill-tasting curse. In the face of such obvious vehemence against Hisoka Kalluto's interest is diverted for a moment. Silva and Zeno had been in Yorknew during the auctions, there to kill rather than participate like Milluki. They had shown no interest in lingering, but they  _had_ known when the Phantom Troupe suddenly had room for new members.  
  


Something detrimental must have happened for two members of the Troupe to have died. Kalluto has yet to determine how Hisoka had been involved in it -- or how he hadn’t been involved, as it was common knowledge that he’d never been a true member of the Phantom Troupe to start with. Kalluto knows he's missing information, only given useless bits and pieces to play with.  
  


He wants to know why his family abandoned their hunt. He wants to know Chrollo's power, and how it works. He wants to know what surveillance they left behind to know of the Troupe's losses and, most importantly, who had done it.  
  


His place is not to want, though, or to ask, so he's quelled himself where family was involved. Here with the Troupe, perhaps, he could get his answers.  
  


"About Hisoka, I was wondering -- "   
  


“A quick quid pro quo first." Kalluto stiffens, already vocally denying that he owes Nobunaga any such thing but is easily talked over. “Why do you want to be one of us?”  
  


_Because I was bade to_.  
  


Rather than answer Kalluto stubbornly braces his stance to show he‘s ready to try sparring again, fingers outstretched and twitching until his Nen connects him to his confetti. Nobunaga sighs instead of pressing the issue, head rolling until his neck cracks, and watches with a careful eye as the paper rises from the ground in a smooth, but slow, stream.  
  


\---  
  


An assumption that Chrollo knows all of Kalluto’s powers and skills has to be made.  
  


Kalluto wants to win this battle, determination bright and hot in his chest. He has debated long and hard if creating a new Nen is the way to go about it. Something new would be a surprise if Chrollo did know more than he should, a brief shock could be a valuable ace up his sleeve, but a new technique might be too green to be of any use, surprise or not, and the time spent to develop it may be better spent honing what he can already do.  
  


There’s certainly little time to truly consider it while Nobunaga is around. He’s demanding in a familiar way, pushing hard without truly knowing what it would take to break Kalluto. What he did know was if he managed to ask more than Kalluto was capable of, the child would still struggle to deliver. Anything else was weakness, and a refusal to fail may be all that was needed to push him past his limits.  
  


Nobunaga does not teach with pain the way Kalluto is used to, or expects to be, because he doesn’t teach with it at all. An impressive front of paper that acts as a screen allows Kalluto to use his speed and Zetsu abilities to get into one of Nobunaga’s blind spots, and the paper he left behind was imbued with enough aura the disappearance _should_ have been subtle enough for Nobunaga to fall for the ruse.  
  


It turns out to be a miscalculation when Nobunaga doesn’t even have to use his En to keep track of Kalluto, impossibly fast as he turns to easily swing his sword, long ago unsheathed, and rests the blade softly against Kalluto’s neck.  
  


Kalluto shouldn’t be surprised by the speed, just as he shouldn’t have been shocked and shaken by Feitan’s. But he is, he _is_ because he’s supposed to be _strong_. He's the one who should be faster. More cunning, more flexible, more everything. Doubt began to plague him. He's a Zoldyck -- shouldn't he be better than this? Than anyone that doesn't share his prestigious family name?  
  


“Almost impressive. Might have worked on someone else.” Kalluto waits for a punishment, but the pain doesn‘t come. “Hurry up and get back into position. Again.” He startles, so blatantly unsure that Nobunaga blinks quietly into the brief span it takes for Kalluto to recompose himself. It's not that Nobunaga isn't capable of teaching with pain, or that he refuses because of Kalluto's age. There is no tenderness in his choice. It's merely that he's never been a teacher before, and wouldn't know how to get the most out of such treatment.  
  


“ _Again_ ,” Nobunaga repeats.  
  


Paper, in these moments, weighs more than it ever has. But it slithers and settles around his feet just as he commands it to, and it’s gaining speed and accuracy under Nobunaga’s tutelage.  
  


Kalluto even gets the strange feeling of genuine praise during training when it's applicable, caught owl eyed and still breathless so that Nobunaga is often left laughing at his too-open expressions.  
  


And then Nobunaga is gone, like Feitan and Machi, suddenly and without word or trace, leaving Kalluto without a teacher's guidance once more. It’s seamless, really, that when it’s only himself and Chrollo left, defenses at their lowest, that his family pays him a visit.


	5. Chapter 5

Illumi is not someone Kalluto wants to see during lunch, much less someone he wants to talk to while eating. His presence is masked so thinly Kalluto is aware and alert that he’s nearby long before he comes into view, continuing to munch away at his sandwich until Illumi deigns to grace him with his company by sitting suddenly and slowly at the seat across the small circular table.  
  


Kalluto narrows his eyes a little as he peeks out from under his bangs at his brother, trying to access what kind of conversation they’re going to have based on Illumi’s expression. Predictably he finds nothing to work with, so he drops his eyes back to his food.  
  


Today was _supposed_ to have been a nice day. The weather is fair and overcast, leaving foot traffic thin in fear of being caught out in the oncoming rain clouds, and Kalluto had intended to rest his overworked muscles by finding quiet places to just sit and practice his observation skills on unsuspecting people of interest.  
  


“Are you going to eat that?” Illumi points a slim finger at something on Kalluto’s plate, and without looking Kalluto shakes his head no. A knee jerk reaction to be easy and complacent that has the unfortunate side effect of Illumi getting an elbow on the table, half standing and leaning _closer_ \--  
  


“How’s Mother,” Kalluto asks conversationally. He ignores the prickle of unease when Illumi is close enough to touch in favor of his discontent that Illumi just picked up a piece of pork with his bare fingers.  
  


“She’s doing well. With no more children to teach I’m afraid she might think about adding to the family, but it’s more likely she’ll take to the younger butlers first.” Not appeased by one piece of meat, Illumi goes for another, politely covering his mouth while he talks. “Grandfather asked me to come, not Mother.”  
  


Kalluto stirs into a more alert state. Zeno isn’t one to mince words or waste time, so if he wants Illumi to relay a message for him it must actually be important.  
  


“Oh?” Kalluto irritably smacks the back of Illumi’s hand when he tries to treat himself to Kalluto‘s drink without asking. “Would you like to buy food and we can continue this conversation then?”  
  


“No,” Illumi answers simply. He sits back down into his seat, legs stretched under the table so that Kalluto is crowded back and forced to make himself as small as possible to keep from coming into contact with his brother. “Ah, first of all, we need to know what your position is right now among the Spiders.”  
  


“I’m being offered a chance for a position.”  
  


“Oh?” Illumi perks up, emotion shown every bit as fake as their Mother’s often are. “Under what circumstances?” Kalluto doesn’t visibly deflate, but he fidgets with his feet by rubbing them together and his hands busy themselves by pulling his drink closer and toying with its straw.  
  


“To fight Chrollo.” Amongst themselves the Zoldyck siblings are quite free to express themselves. There’s little reason to hide how they’re feeling when it can’t really be hidden. At least, that’s how it is in Kalluto’s case..  
  


His confidence was broken with careful precision to rely on his family and Kalluto knows it. To him, his worth is exactly what they say it is. They‘re the ones with the experience and knowledge to make such calls; he‘s not in a position to disagree when he‘s told he‘s been a disappointment.  
  


Glancing at Illumi right now Kalluto is entirely unsure if this mission is going to continue.  
  


A deep, yawning pit opens in Kalluto’s stomach. He doesn’t want to be made to quit. For every strength Kalluto has someone in his family surpasses it, but he’s never once known _failure_ on a mission. He’s only known success. To fail now, with the biggest mission of his life, was an abhorrence Kalluto is having trouble thinking about.  
  


“Hm? You don’t have to win, do you? The Spiders can’t be so mean.” There’s no confidence given in that respect, and for once Kalluto isn’t annoyed by it. He’s no match for Chrollo. Even pretending to think so would be as idiotic as it was foolish.  
  


“I don’t have to win.”  
  


“You wouldn’t still be here if you did.” Illumi’s smile isn’t warm, isn’t supportive, but it still manages to be genuine. Some twisted amusement to how he lords enough acknowledged power over Kalluto that he knows his training wouldn’t go ignored, and that Kalluto would have run home in the face of an enemy too powerful to be beaten.  
  


“You just have to put on a good show then, huh?”  
  


“Right.” The clenching in Kalluto’s chest lessens somewhat, shoulders coming down into a more relaxed pose.  
  


“What happens if you aren’t impressive?” Illumi says it so casually it’s apparent that he thinks there’s a high probability that‘s what‘s going to happen, something Kalluto can only respond with a withering look. With age Kalluto _will_ surpass him in his manipulation abilities. He had better enjoy himself now, while he can, because in time Illumi will find himself bested.  
  


Struck with his usual distaste for Illumi, Kalluto doesn’t have to wonder how Killua managed so neatly to become everyone‘s favorite. Illumi wasn’t always a sour spot to Kalluto, they had had exactly two missions together, and there was enough truth in himself for Kalluto to honestly admit his admiration for his brother’s ruthlessness, but --  
  


Killua and Mother were preferred highly over the company of Illumi.  
  


“I was only told to impress and join. Details for what would happen otherwise weren’t given. Presumed obvious, maybe?”  
  


“Well, you won’t be killed, they like Mother too much. Chrollo might take your Nen, though.” Kalluto is stunned into a brief silence, frozen with his eyes too wide. Illumi ignores the reaction, as it was what he expected and what he wanted, reaching towards Kalluto to gently run his fingers against Kalluto’s hair. “Are you growing it out?”  
  


He’s being toyed with, but still Kalluto answers with a short shake of his head as Illumi withdraws his hand. He wasn’t growing it out on purpose, he just hadn’t had time to think of such things, and it was Mother who usually cut it for him. The explanation comes dully within his own mind as he slowly processes what Illumi has just told him.  
  


Illumi waits quietly until Kalluto finds his voice, fingers threaded together with his chin resting on top.  
  


“You mean steal my techniques,” Kalluto says slowly. Whatever he had felt earlier, the brief despair at being made to abandon his mission, was null and void next to the idea the entirety of his Nen could be taken away by whatever power Chrollo wielded.  
  


“Oh, right. That’s what Grandpa sent me to talk to you about. When him and Father fought Chrollo they learned about his Nen, a knowledge that should be passed on to aid you.” Kalluto carefully shutters his emotions from this point on, giving Illumi a flat look for the unneeded scare. “Really the only important part is that he has to ask you about the technique. If you refuse to answer him then you’re fine.  
  


“Grandfather suspects he has three or four other Restrictions, one of which he‘s sure has to do with touching the Book yourself.” Illumi spreads his hands. “The other‘s are unknown factors.”  
  


“Does the book need to be open when he’s using other’s abilities?” Presumably, if he could take Kalluto's techniques that's what he specializes in. The powers must be stored within the books pages, then.  
  


“That’s right. He can‘t put it down, either.” Kalluto starts thinking of every exploitable weakness that comes with these requirements, withdrawing his attention from Illumi almost entirely until he speaks.  
  


“If you last a minute he’ll be thoroughly impressed with you, I think. Can you last a minute?”  
  


“I don’t know.”  
  


“Grandfather and Father combined could barely touch him, you know. With you he might not even have to use his Book. Chrollo has mastered fighting without Nen. It’s one more thing that makes him so dangerous.” This seems to be a genuine attempt at warning -- as much as it is still a belittlement -- so Kalluto says nothing in retort.  
  


“I should have someone helping to train me,” Kalluto says lowly. “I have a deadline for my fight with him.”  
  


“It’s a little late to be doing that now, isn’t it?”  
  


“I’ve had help until today,” Kalluto scowls. “I wouldn’t put it off so long if I could help it. When they are around the others tutor me.” Well. Nobunaga had. Kalluto had learned some things in his brief fight with Feitan, but he can’t say with certainty it had been _meant_ as a learning experience, per say.  
  


“Were any of them helpful?” There’s something a little off about Illumi’s tone, something Kalluto can’t put a finger on, so he quells the swell of excitement to be able to tell someone about the inner workings of the Troupe at an individual level.  
  


Information like how Feitan struggles with the common language and reads disgusting books, Machi’s consistent but bearable coldness, or how Phinks is easily egged on into an amusing rage aren’t what Illumi is here to hear about. It’s not why Zeno sent Illumi here, so Kalluto keeps it to himself.  
  


“They’re -- “ _Amazing_ is the word on the tip of Kalluto’s tongue. They’re all so hardened and strong, fighters and brawlers and swordsmen, not assassin’s, but still extraordinary. “Obnoxious, really. When they’re not trying to get a rise out of me they can be useful teachers. One is trying to teach me to use Meandering Dance without my fan.”  
  


Illumi shows no indication that he perceived the half-truth, blinking slowly to show he’s listening. “I can kill the average person with it now without my fan, actually -- “  
  


“Why would you not have your fan when confronted with someone you’re supposed to kill?”  
  


“It’s a preparation if I was ever disarmed.” Miffed by Illumi’s discouraging tone, Kalluto keeps his answer brief. “Future bodyguards to confront aside, my main disarming concern being Chrollo.” A long moment of silence drags out between them, the emptiness of Illumi’s eyes fixated on Kalluto even though he seems to be lost in thought.  
  


“Chrollo doesn’t keep you on a short chain, so I’m sure he wouldn’t notice if I provided you with a teacher.” Illumi is already taking out his phone, absently typing something out on it even before he's done speaking.  
  


“Someone in the family?”  
  


“No, we have a trail on Killua and Alluka right now that Mother wants me to look at, and you know how she gets about Killua. We‘re all rather focused on that right now.”  
  


“If it’s not family I don’t want them.” Kalluto crosses his arms and leans back in his seat, expression bored. The only other people Illumi could be eluding to is a butler, all of whom Kalluto thinks would be useless, save maybe for Gotoh.  
  


“You aren’t to leave your potential against Chrollo to chance. We need you in the Troupe.” Illumi looks up from his phone, fingers stilling and eyes seeming to blacken unnaturally. “I’ll give you a teacher, and he’ll meet you here tomorrow.”  
  


Kalluto wants to protest the finality of that order, scowling and having urges to storm off that he knows he can’t carry through with.  
  


“The Spiders must be leaving truly impressive marks on you if you think they're the only acceptable alternative to family.”  
  


“I’ve seen them fight full out, something I can still only guess at with you all. I know they're exceptional.” Despite the fact he still wasn’t admitted into the Troupe they had all been relaxed about showing off their skills and strength, save for Chrollo. Both with the Chimera Ants and when they sparred amongst each other they didn’t seem to hold back very much, and whenever two or three were about to fight someone always made the point of collecting Kalluto so that he’d get to watch.  
  


A restlessness enters his bones when the comparison going on seems to imply the Troupe is better than his family in any way. They worked differently, that was all.  
  


Illumi’s phone buzzes quietly, the message he received causing his eyebrows to inch up minutely.  
  


“Your teacher will be here at ten in the morning, don’t be late.” Illumi stands, puts a carefree hand on the top of Kalluto’s head to ruffle his hair, and then leaves without another word.  
  


Sighing, Kalluto smooths his hair back into place. If Illumi called who Kalluto _thinks_ he did there would be a multitude of problems cropping up, none of which he wants to have to deal with.


	6. Chapter 6

Nerves never keep Kalluto from sleep.

  
He’s long since learned that sleep is a commodity to be cherished and taken advantage of at every opportunity. Never to squander, and especially not lost to swirling, repetitive thoughts about the immediate possibilities of the future.

  
While difficult, sometimes, to blank the mind and maintain the thoughtless static, Kalluto manages it.

  
Even so, being asleep and staying asleep are two entirely different things. A body made restless by a potential reunion is much more unruly than one made restless by excitement. The high potential for an _unpleasant_ reunion only makes the dreams worse. When he opens his eyes the sun is barely resting on the horizon, and whatever dream left his heart rate elevated and his fingers twitching is quickly forgotten, brushed aside by consciousness.

  
The dream lingers like grasping cobwebs in the back of his mind, unpleasant enough that Kalluto ushers himself out of bed with the conviction that he does not want to return to whatever had stalked his dream. 

  
Even if that means wandering the city hours before he had planned to.

  
Today’s weather is fair and inviting, a contrast to yesterday, leaving Kalluto to navigate through growing crowds despite the early time. It’s a bit perplexing, this city is populated by tourists, especially these parts along the fringe. Kalluto has never had the pleasure of being on vacation himself, but from his understanding of the event people are supposed to want to spend the morning relaxing in bed.

  
Fair weather aside Kalluto finds his disposition to be a glum one. He eventually finds himself in a well populated square, meandering into it’s middle to sit on the edge of a fountain and wait. If he’s being honest with himself he’s not looking forward to this meeting. He’s convinced it will be some sort of reunion, so he can’t find it in himself yet to pull on his usual stoic façade.

  
There’s something liberating to not hide how he’s feeling, and in a crowd of pedestrian nobodies, Kalluto feels no need to hide anything. If it really is Hisoka that he’s going to meet he’ll be aware of the other’s presence long before they see one another, meaning he’ll have ample time to compose himself when he needs to.

  
“Your predictable behavior sets your Mother’s heart at ease.” Before conscious thought registers the all voice -- out of place in it‘s familiarity against the backdrop of the crowd -- Kalluto is standing.

  
“Mother?” Astonishment and a knack for adapting quickly to any given situation has the word leaving Kalluto’s mouth whisper quiet so as not to draw attention. It isn’t immediately clear, visually, that he’s staring at his Mother. How she’s dressed is too casual, a large sunhat shading her face and a simple, but flattering, sundress dropping just below her knees.

  
Strangest of all, her electronic visor has been switched out for a pair of inconspicuous sunglasses. Kalluto can’t help but balk at how visually unfamiliar his Mother is, standing in front of him like this. He hates to be taken by surprise, and he hates it more that his Mother is witness to it.

  
As unusual as her looks are, what’s truly upsetting about the picture is, without her visor, his Mother is effectively blind. Kalluto has never confirmed what the state of her eyes is like underneath; he’s never asked, but that’s not the kind of sight he means.

  
Mother’s ability to multitask is legendary. It’s the staple skill of a proficient manipulator, of course, and her visor allows her to exploit her skill to it’s full extent. When she wears it she can keep an eye and ear on more than a dozen situations, places, and people at once, rarely distracted enough by all that’s going on to give pause or hint at to how spread out she usually is.

  
To come here without the visor causes strong, conflicting emotions to surge up within Kalluto. It’s a struggle, to balance his suspicion with his craving for love while simultaneously trying to analyze his Mother’s motives, something he quickly gives up on. He allows himself to hope that the missing visor is something positive. That, maybe, she wants to give him her full attention.

  
It‘s that undeniable hope that quickly melts his astonishment into a small, warm smile, one that his Mother returns in kind. Her shade of lipstick is the same as the last time Kalluto saw her, a small but familiar detail that finally allows him to relax completely.

  
“Illumi said that you had eyes on Killua?” Distaste pulls his Mother’s face to exaggeration, mouth tipped sharply into a frown.

  
“No longer.” She’s resigned as she says it, though doesn’t seem particularly surprised. The topic is sensitive enough that she flicks her fingers in an easy dismissal that Kalluto submits to. It’s actually comforting for him to hear, in a way, because it makes her appearance less bizarre. He would never expect her to abandon a lead on Killua willingly. She’s too intent on bringing him home.

  
It’s a sour blow, too, as it reminds Kalluto that he is always lower on the totem pole of importance. If the family hadn’t lost track of Killua, then his Mother wouldn’t be here at all.

  
In an attempt to soothe that hurt Kalluto allows himself to focus on the fact that, for his Mother to get here so fast, they must have lost eyes on Killua while Illumi was here yesterday. Imagining his sour expression when _this_ was the news he received the second he arrived home brought forth a deep satisfaction born of sibling rivalry.

  
Kalluto will be the one to bring Killua home. He now has that chance again.

  
“So you aren’t the one that Illumi sent to train me.” Kalluto sits back down on the edge of the fountain. Doing so in his Mother’s presence without her permission has him flinching inwardly when her expression shows obvious displeasure. 

  
“When I heard Illumi was deciding such important things on his own I took it upon myself to intervene. I decided it best that Silva would be the one to stay behind and punish Illumi for not discussing it with us first.” With a delicate grace Kikyo brushes nonexistent debris from the spot next to Kalluto and sits by him on the fountain’s edge. She smoothes the skirt of her dress out over her lap before continuing to talk. “What’s worse, Milluki had trouble breaking into Illumi’s phone to find out who it was he planned to send here for you.”

  
Controlling. Overbearing. Kalluto wishes his Mother’s own habits were less predictable, or at least more subtle.

  
“Did you not ask him to tell you?” The question gets him a sharp, pointed look from his Mother, one that has him folding his hands in his lap and looking down at them submissively. Even without her visor he can picture the round, red glare that would cast him in a baleful light. It’s been years since he’s had to be admonished wordlessly like this, and he can’t help but think _what’s wrong with me?_

  
“I did ask, but he told me, quite flippantly, I might add, that it didn’t matter because the arrangements were already made. Besides, I mentioned Milluki had trouble getting into Illumi’s phone, not that he couldn’t.” She pauses here, whether for effect or to test if Kalluto regained his ability to hold his tongue he didn’t know. Either way it’s an easy wait; Kalluto already knows who she’s going to reveal.

  
Sighing dramatically, she continues. “But even when he got in he couldn’t ascertain who it is!” Even incognito as she is his Mother’s voice rises with a betrayed passion, eyebrows drawn sharply together in dismay above her sunglasses. “Regardless of evidence Milluki assured me that it’s that…Hisoka.” The open distaste his Mother uses is mirrored just as plainly in Kalluto’s own face.

  
“You’re disapproving.” An understatement.

  
“As you should be! Your training shouldn’t be put into such incapable, bumbling hands.” Her agitation with the situation is growing, causing her chest to heave somewhat, leading her to pull out her hand fan from her purse and fan herself with small, aggravated motions.

  
“You have a replacement for me?” Kalluto can’t help but feel hopeful at the prospect. He hasn’t put much thought as to what Hisoka would be like as a teacher, but with another option in sight he can’t imagine it’d be any worse.

  
“Why, me, of course.” The brief feeling of suspicion Kalluto had earlier is back with such force Kalluto has to reevaluate the entire situation from a new perspective. His Mother is, truly, eccentric in her moods and how she shows them, but they’re genuine as often as they are deceptive. She’s expected to be over the top and loud with them, so she uses them to mislead those around her whenever she chooses to do so.

  
The selfish, manipulative nature of his Mother’s false moods engenders a certain amount of predictability, something Kalluto has only recently begun to notice, but that he’s recognizing with increasing frequency.

  
He does not see it here.

  
It’s only when he raises his eyes back to Kikyo’s face that it hits him.

  
From behind her sunglasses she’s exerting a singular focus on him that’s so intense she can’t hide it fast enough, the brief moment of scrutiny that Kalluto is privy to causing adrenaline to pour into his veins belatedly. Without her visor her attention there is no chance that her attention is scattered., any and all anxiety over her limited sight put aside for an intense examination.

  
An examination of what? _For_ what? Kalluto sits up a fraction of an inch straighter, his brows furrowing delicately as his mind continues to race and tease out what it is his Mother actually came here for.

  
“Is it dangerous for you to be here?” Kalluto asks with a wary hesitance.

  
“Whatever do you mean by that?” There’s the predictable overplay of emotions; surprise over the question, hurt that he had asked at all since it implied that he thought she’s hiding something. And she is. He knows she is.

  
“You’re here incognito. I could barely recognize you, meaning if I was being watched right now it’s doubtful anyone else would know it was you either. Illumi wasn’t this careful, and he was here only yesterday. Either something has changed since then, or your being here needs to be a secret.”

  
Kikyo sniffs, and for a moment Kalluto thinks it’s in disdain, that her façade will change quickly and dramatically from playing dumb to something cold and cutting. It’s when she speaks that he realizes he has it wrong.

  
“You’re certainly growing up into a Zoldyck.” Praise. She’s _praised_ him, sniffing again and raising a hand to pass a finger under the right lens of her sunglasses, wiping away a tear. “When you took this mission we told you what you needed to know about it, Kalluto. Anything else was a distraction.” Kalluto nods slowly in understanding. Such was standard procedure in any mission. You didn’t need to know why someone wanted another person dead, you just killed who you were paid to kill.

  
“Yes, well, you must have realized by now that Chrollo is a very smart man, but maybe you haven’t noticed his pride. His Spider means something to him, you know, and after what happened with that man Hisoka we knew that he wouldn’t stand to have another member join him that wasn’t his.

  
He said in the time he was evaluating you, your Father and I weren’t to meet with you unless he gave you permission.” She makes it clear exactly what she thinks of that by the sneer that pulls at her mouth.

  
“What does he gain, keeping me from you?” This is not at all what Kalluto had expected. He had been curious as to how and why he’d been given this opportunity, but he never imagined that it’d come with rules like these. The feeling of intense scrutiny is back, forcing Kalluto to look away as his face heats up under the attention.

  
“He wants your evaluation period to be your own to deal with. Getting help from your Mother and Father doesn’t sound very flattering, or promising for a new member, does it?”

  
“No.” Even so, Kalluto finds himself conflicted. it’s not very different, getting help from his Mother versus Hisoka, except for the promise that his Mother wouldn’t be involved.

  
“What if I don’t want to break the deal you made with Chrollo?” Kalluto whispers. The words feel wrong in his mind, and taboo when he speaks them. It’d be dangerous to keep his gaze off his Mother for her response, so Kalluto peeks back at her from under his bangs.

  
Again with the intense scrutiny.

  
“Illumi wants Killua back just as much as we do, Mother. Do you think he would have chosen Hisoka to train me if he truly thought it wouldn’t advance my place within the Troupe?”

  
“That’s neither here nor there, darling. He offered that man because he wasn’t aware that I’d be available for the task.”

  
“He used to be a Troupe member. He might be able to tell me something vital about the initiation process so I don’t walk into it blindly.” Kikyo cocks her head to the side.

  
“You can get that information without having to train with him.” Kalluto purses his lips, uncertain.

  
“When Milluki got into Illumi’s phone was he able to find what it is Hisoka is getting out of this deal he’s made with Illumi?” 

  
“Unfortunately, no.” His Mother frowns and turns her head away to stare dispassionately at the pedestrians who are milling about. “His phone is kept meticulously clean, as he‘s been taught. Their exchange ended with the agreed price being ‘the usual’, but because his history doesn’t reach past the first of the month we can’t look back to find that out.”

  
Kalluto wonders why Illumi is being so evasive on the subject. Where family is involved there aren’t supposed to be secrets, and the fact that his Mother is sitting here not knowing means that he was asked and, once again, failed to come clean.

  
In the grand scheme of things Kalluto can understand his parents lack of persistence in getting an answer if they suspect it‘s a personal price. With Hisoka involved perhaps it’s for the best.

  
A plethora of unpleasant speculations has Kalluto clearing his throat and shifting on his seat.

  
“I know this mission was your chance to prove yourself, Kalluto, but success is more important than how you achieve the goal this time.” She sounds unusually grave as she says it, reaching to pat Kalluto lightly on the top of his head, assuming their discussion is over.

  
“I want -- “ Kalluto falters, voice dying in his throat when his Mother’s hand freezes where it rests on his head. He tries again. “I want to train with both of you. If you hear tell of Killua then you’ll be called back home!” Kalluto rushes his words, spurred on by a curl of fear in his gut. “If I dismiss Hisoka as unnecessary, then I’ll be left without guidance for an unknown length of time, until another Troupe member returns, and even then it’s not guaranteed they’ll be willing or able to train with me.”

  
Kikyo’s hand slides back into her lap, but her lax expression allows Kalluto to relax, recognizing that she isn’t mad and seems to accept his logic, even if she’s not happy about it.

  
“You‘re right. You‘re right! Leaving things to chance would lead to failure.” Using ‘failure’ so casually and with such heavy implications, that without help his Mother is certain that he won’t succeed, causes a yawning pit to open in Kalluto’s chest. 

  
She thinks failure could be upon him? Just like Illumi does? Maybe she’s right. Without her help mission failure is much more likely. It creates the odd hope in him that Killua will remain in the wind for awhile, resurfacing only when it suits Kalluto best. Upon seeing Kalluto’s despondent expression his Mother tuts softly.

  
“Come now, dear. Tell me, have you been keeping up with your regimen? I brought some poisons with me, just in case. . .” Kalluto nods when appropriate, but finds himself somewhat dazed for the rest of their conversation.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, a combination of things were in my way for finishing it, and hopefully the next chapter will be out in a much more timely fashion. A huge thanks to my soulmate Kessie who edited this for me, making it the best chapter so far, I'm sure. :')


End file.
